


Fools Like Us

by tookumade



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, it's really quite sappy (sorry)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2858150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tookumade/pseuds/tookumade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had sworn long distance was going to be a breeze. It was meant to be better than this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fools Like Us

“Okay, is this good?” Matsukawa waved experimentally at his laptop’s webcam. “Can you see me?”  
  
“Yeah, got it.” Hanamaki grinned and waved back before adding, “Wow, you… look like shit.”  
  
“Thanks, it’s nice to see you, too.”  
  
“No, seriously, are you taking care of yourself over there?”  
  
“As much as I can, but it’s been a really busy week. I think the last time I spoke to you was… Sunday? Four days ago.”  
  
“Nah, it was Saturday.”  
  
“Five days? Damn.” Matsukawa frowned a little. “Sorry.”  
  
“It’s fine, you’re busy. I get that. How’s Melbourne?”  
  
“Same old, not much else to say,” said Matsukawa with a shrug. He rested his cheek in his hand. “How about you? How’s work? Did you get paid for that overtime they owed you?”  
  
“Yeah, they finally paid up on Tuesday, after making it sound like it was my fault that accounts is so incompetent… urgh, why are we talking about work? Let’s talk about something else.”  
  
“Okay, then… let’s talk about what’s bothering you.”  
  
“Aside from work? Nothing.”  
  
Matsukawa snorted. “I may be in another country, but even I can tell that’s not your I-hate-work face. What else is wrong?”  
  
“I just can’t hide a thing from you, can I?” said Hanamaki dryly.  
  
“You know me, I’m good at paying attention. So, what’s the matter?”  
  
Hanamaki was silent for a while as he scratched at his neck absently. The playful mood from before had dimmed in a subtle way, and they both felt it.  
  
“Oikawa and Iwaizumi left this morning to tour with the national team for three weeks,” he said slowly. “They’re playing a friendly against Canada this weekend, then they’ll be playing the US, Colombia, Brazil, and Argentina.”  
  
Matsukawa nodded. “I heard about that. Those matches should be fun to watch.”  
  
“They told me that Oikawa’s made regular starting setter now.”  
  
“ _Really?_ Oh, _hell_ yes! Finally.” Matsukawa’s grin lit up his whole face, and Hanamaki felt his stomach give a funny spasm.  
  
“Yeah, he’s worked hard and it’s really paying off, and according to all the sports journalists, we have a higher success rate when he starts, too, so I’m expecting lots of good news.”  
  
“I love it, that’s our claim to fame: we used to train with Oikawa and Iwaizumi from the national team. But you know, I name-drop at work, but no one follows volleyball so they don’t have a clue who I’m talking about.”  
  
“Can you watch the games from over there?”  
  
“I find super low-quality illegal livestreams in languages I don’t understand. But we’re getting off topic again. What’s bothering you?”  
  
Hanamaki fiddled with the sleeve of his sweater restlessly for a while before saying, “It’s quiet when none of you are around.”  
  
Matsukawa opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again without saying anything and looked a little downcast now as he waited for Hanamaki to continue  
  
“When Oikawa and Iwaizumi are in town, we hang out and joke around, and if I use my imagination, I can pretend that you’re with us,” said Hanamaki. “But it’s not the same. And then when they go overseas for international matches, I don’t even have them to keep my mind off things. I do have other people I can hang out with, but they’re not you guys.”  
  
“Those two will be back soon. Three weeks isn’t too bad.” But they both knew how unconvincing Matsukawa sounded.  
  
“Compared to your four months and counting, I guess not.”  
  
“Shit, it’s already been four months?”  
  
“Yeah. It doesn’t sound like a long time, but…” Hanamaki made a vague hand gesture.  
  
“Takahiro?”  
  
“I miss you,” said Hanamaki heavily. “I miss Oikawa and Iwaizumi when they’re away too, but they’re _them_ , you know? It’s different, and they’re usually not gone for long. I miss you most. You left at the end of summer, and it's winter now and it’s… it feels colder than usual.”  
  
“You like the cold, though.”  
  
“Not so much this year. When I’m at home, I turn the heating up and I wear something like five layers, and I do everything I can to keep warm, but…” Hanamaki paused for a moment to collect his thoughts before adding in a quieter voice, “you’re not here. It’s colder without you.”  
  
Matsukawa’s shoulders slumped and he took his hand from his face, and Hanamaki hated himself for bringing him down like this when he couldn’t do anything about it. He had to fix this. “Takahiro–”  
  
“Which reminds me,” said Hanamaki loudly, changing his tack so fast he almost gave himself mental whiplash, “I’ve stolen some of your coats and sweaters you left behind, because they’re really warm. I accidentally poked a hole through the sleeve of one of your grey sweaters last week though. Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”  
  
And Matsukawa looked surprised, before giving a snort of laughter. “I can’t keep up with you,” he said, grinning. He then stopped, suddenly frowned in realisation, and pointed at the screen indignantly. “Wait a second, you’re wearing one of mine right now!”  
  
“Huh?” Hanamaki looked down and plucked at the dark blue sweater he was wearing. “Oh, yeah, I am.”  
  
“ _Hey!_ ”  
  
Hanamaki shrugged. “Like I said, they’re warm, and anyway, it’s not like you’re…” He faltered, words catching in his throat as he realised what he was about to say, “… coming back to any time soon.”  
  
So much for that tactic.  
  
“I know,” said Matsukawa, shaking his head, “and believe me, I wish I was.”  
  
“Issei?”  
  
“It’s just… I like my job, and it’s comfortable here in Melbourne, but literally everything reminds me that I’m not in Japan. There’s the language, the people are different, the food’s different, the environment is different… and when I remember you’re not here, it really hits me just how far away I am. I didn’t think I’d be the type to get homesick, but here we are.” Matsukawa stared down at his keyboard and twisted his fingers together absently before murmuring, “And when I talk to you like this, when you make me laugh, you remind me of home.”  
  
His words made Hanamaki feel like someone had kicked him in the gut. It was somehow even colder now, and the room seemed bigger and emptier, and the distance between him and Matsukawa even further. He wanted that distance closed, and he wanted to make him laugh again but not to remind him of home, he just wanted him to be happy, to be okay.  
  
“I could… I could visit you in Melbourne,” said Hanamaki.  
  
“You’ve got work.”  
  
“I could take time off.”  
  
“With that jackass boss of yours? Not if you want to keep your job.”  
  
“Who says I want to keep my job?” said Hanamaki bluntly before he could stop himself. “Who says keeping my job is more important than seeing you?”  
  
“Takahiro–”  
  
“Sorry, sorry.” Hanamaki ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Work has been shit and stressing me out, it’s been a long day, and I really miss you. It’s a terrible combination.”  
  
Matsukawa leaned forward to rest on his elbows. “I could come back instead,” he said. “Just say the words. Tell me to come home, and I will. I’ll fly back for the weekend.”  
  
It was so tempting. He made it sound so easy.  
  
“I can’t make you do that,” said Hanamaki with a smile on his face that he didn’t feel. “Your work wouldn’t cover the cost of flying back for a holiday, and a flight from there to here would kill your rent for a month.”  
  
“It’d be worth it, though.”  
  
It would. It really would.  
  
“Sometimes they ask you to work on the weekends too, and you can’t afford to turn them down,” said Hanamaki. “You worked so hard to get to where you are now, and you’ve still got a career to build. Don’t let that go to waste.”  
  
Matsukawa gave a small, sad smile, and it was hard to watch. “What if seeing you is more important than keeping my job–”  
  
“Stop. It’s not even _close_ to being the same situation, so don’t you dare pull that on me,” said Hanamaki. The sharpness of his words were voided by him burying his face in his hands briefly. When he took his hands away again, Matsukawa was no longer smiling. He looked smaller somehow and more tired as he hunched his shoulders and curled his arms together.  
  
“I really want you to tell me to come home,” said Matsukawa quietly.  
  
“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” said Hanamaki as he shook his head, knowing he was being hypocritical, knowing that this was his fault too for cracking, for admitting he missed him. “If I told you to come back now, I wouldn’t be able to let you go again.”  
  
“I’d be fine with that.”  
  
“And I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, knowing your career was screwed up because of me.”  
  
“Things can work out, and it wouldn’t be screwed up because of–”  
  
“Issei.”  
  
Matsukawa looked away and ran his fingers through his hair and sighed, and Hanamaki watched him, imagined it was him running his fingers through Matsukawa’s hair instead, imagined being with him right now and kissing his forehead and his temple and his jaw and his mouth, imagined curling up with each other on the couch and falling asleep to the sound of each others’ soft breathing for the first time in months. His fingers clutched tightly at the hem of the sweater he was wearing, that he reminded himself belonged to Matsukawa.  
  
It was not meant to be this hard. They had sworn long-distance was going to be a breeze; they would try and enjoy their time away from each other, meet new friends, experience new things, share silly stories. They would miss each other and that was a given, but it would be fine, they’d still be able to talk, and Matsukawa would be back before they knew it. Two weeks, and it was easy. A month, and it was sort of okay. Nearly two months, and they felt the distance, the gap. Three months, and their façades were cracking. Four months, and they still had so many more weeks to go. It was meant to be better than this.  
  
(For Matsukawa’s sake, for all his hard work, for things to be better in the long-run, it _had_ to be better than this.)  
  
Hanamaki forced a smile on his face when Matsukawa turned his attention back to the screen.  
  
“You know what, I lied. I actually don’t miss you, Issei,” he said lightly. “Not at all. In fact, it’s really peaceful when you’re not around, and I can finally sleep without you kicking me in the middle of the night.” A small and hesitant smile slowly spread across Matsukawa’s face, and Hanamaki continued, “I can also make meals with tomatoes and carrots and not have you complaining about picking them out, I can buy profiteroles all for myself rather than having to share them with you–”  
  
“ _Takahiro_.”  
  
“–I can walk around the apartment without seeing you shirtless for whatever reason and then feeling sexually frustrated for the rest of the day–”  
  
“Oh my _god_.”  
  
“–I can dump my clothes all over the place without worrying about you tripping over a stray pair of jeans–”  
  
“That was a year ago!”  
  
“–or worrying about you pinching my clothes for work and looking better in them than I do–”  
  
“Stop, _stop_ ,” said Matsukawa. He was laughing now, and honestly, that made things even worse.  
  
“See? I don’t miss you at all.”  
  
“You’re horrible.” Matsukawa leaned back in his chair, grinning, and Hanamaki knew it was soon time to shut off his computer or they would spend all night talking. “And if you thought that was going to help at all–”  
  
“Hey, you know, I have to go now,” Hanamaki interrupted, hating himself for it. “It’s midnight over there, right? We’ve still got work tomorrow.”  
  
Matsukawa’s smile faded, and Hanamaki silently begged him not to ask him to stay, because he would, in a heartbeat. He absolutely would, and it would be harder to end the call. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could put on a brave face, and he knew that Matsukawa knew it too.  
  
“Okay,” he said softly and reluctantly, and that wasn’t any better. “When are you next free to talk?”  
  
“I dunno… I’ll send you a message.”  
  
“Okay,” repeated Matsukawa. He looked as though there was so much more he wanted to say, but couldn’t, and Hanamaki knew that feeling very well. _I miss you so fucking much, I hate that you’re so far away, please be with me again, I love you, I love you, I love you._  
  
“Goodnight, Issei.”  
  
“Goodnight, Takahiro.”  
  
And with one more strained smile, Hanamaki quickly pulled his laptop closed, and their connection was cut off.

* * *

  
In the next couple of weeks, they spoke as often as they could on Skype but none of the conversations that followed were quite as emotional, and for that, both were glad. They joked around and laughed more, but the moments when both were silent were heavier, and spoke more than their words did. Their fingers would clench, as though they very much wanted to reach through the screen and hold each others’ hands, and it was hard to look at each other sometimes. Ending their conversations was even harder, and there were a few times when Hanamaki seriously thought about _not_ speaking to Matsukawa, just so they wouldn’t have to say goodbye at the end of their talks, but that thought was always quickly pushed away. Seeing Matsukawa’s face, even if it was on a screen, was still the second-best thing to actually being with him again.  
  
Oikawa and Iwaizumi had returned to Japan after three weeks on tour. Hanamaki hugged them both tightly when they met up for dinner, to their surprise, and honestly those hugs spoke volumes that they quickly understood. They were careful to only briefly bring up the topic of Matsukawa when they mentioned getting him souvenirs that he would have to wait for, and also when they told Hanamaki that they had only spoken to him twice when they were overseas because the timezones made it difficult to get a hold of each other; Matsukawa was often at work when they had time to talk, or they had practice when it was evening in Melbourne.  
  
Hanamaki listened more than talked as they told him all about the tour. They had lost their friendly matches against Canada and Brazil, but won their games against the US, Colombia, and Argentina, and had learned a lot overall and met many new and wonderful people. They told him the stories behind each of his souvenirs, and he thanked them for the gifts, and they laughed at each others’ banter, threw napkins at each other amidst their teasing, and pinched bits of each others’ food as the dinner went on. It was just like any other time they hung out together, and it was so good to see them again. Having them back made things a little easier.  
  
(Just a little.)  
  
As the weeks went on, the temperature continued to drop and the cold made Hanamaki think of Matsukawa and his absence more than ever.  
  
By now, he had gone through each of Matsukawa’s coats and sweaters that he left at the apartment at least once, partially to take selfies of himself wearing them to send to Matsukawa so he could annoy him (“Make sure you wash them too, asshole!”), and partially for the extra warmth. He wasn’t sure whether they were _actually_ warmer than Hanamaki's other sweaters and coats when he wore them, or whether it was a placebo effect and wearing them simply fooled him into thinking that it was warmer—it was probably a combination of both, but either way, he missed Matsukawa a tiny bit less when he wore them, and felt better with them than without.  
  
“They smell like you, and it’s nice,” he told Matsukawa over Skype one day, deadpan. “Is that creepy?”  
  
Matsukawa was shaking with laughter. “Well, I’m not going to break up with you over that, so I guess you’re safe.”  
  
“I’m keeping your light grey one with the dark red stripes at the edges, by the way.”  
  
“ _Wear your own!_ ”  
  
As if they needed any more reminders of how far away they were, while Hanamaki bundled up in sweaters and wished for more pleasant weather, Matsukawa often wore t-shirts or light long-sleeved shirts (once, extremely hungover and barely able to string two sentences together on a Saturday morning, he had appeared in their Skype chat shirtless, which nearly gave Hanamaki a heart attack). It was summer in Australia now to Japan’s winter, and more than once, Hanamaki found himself scrolling through websites and looking at flights to Melbourne, but the prices made him cringe, and he had to shut the windows hastily before he did something stupid, like purchase a flight that ended up equaling the cost of a month’s worth of rent and electricity bills put together.  
  
They could hold on for a little longer. They only had just over two months to go now before Matsukawa’s contract in Melbourne ended, and they’d already made it this far. It’d be fine. Two months was nothing.  
  
They told this to each other and to themselves repeatedly, like a mantra, but the way they sat there in silence as they gazed at each other through their webcams said that neither was convinced. It was going to be a very long two months.

* * *

  
It was so, so cold.  
  
Hanamaki had managed to escape work after staying behind for nearly an hour, and was finally on his way home. His hands were tucked into his coat pockets for warmth but they didn’t have much effect, so he had to deal with walking in quick strides to get out of the cold as soon as he could. He thought about what he was going to have for dinner; he had no energy to cook anything, plus he had run out of groceries for the week—it was annoyingly difficult to calculate how much food to buy and then make for just one person. If he didn’t buy too much, then he bought too little, and this week was a buy-too-little sort of week.  
  
It’d be easier again when Matsukawa returned; that would be in just under two months now. He sighed. Maybe if he imagined hard enough, he could pretend that Matsukawa was back for just a little while right now. He could pretend to be walking with him, and they’d be holding hands and huddled closely together. Or, Matsukawa would meet him outside the post-office like he sometimes used to after work, and they would bicker about whose turn it was to pick a restaurant for dinner.  
  
Hanamaki stopped walking abruptly and stared at the bench outside the post-office. Matsukawa was sitting there and smiling softly at him.  
  
Damn. Hanamaki’s powers of imagination were either getting carried away, or his fatigue from work was causing hallucinations, or both. Either way, the illusion was so realistic that Hanamaki felt that if he walked over, he could touch him and he’d be there, but it was impossible because Matsukawa wasn’t even in the same timezone. He really didn’t need this right now.  
  
“Takahiro.”  
  
Ah, the illusion was talking, and he sounded exactly like him. Hanamaki blinked hard and rubbed his eyes. Just how tired was he?  
  
“You’re not imaging things, idiot. It’s really me.”  
  
Jeez, he even spoke in the same manner as Matsukawa.  
  
The illusion stood up and began walking his way—he had the same walk, too—but Hanamaki stood where he was and watched as he stopped right in front of him. He was so close now, and Hanamaki fought hard against the urge to reach out and touch his face, because this couldn’t be real, he wasn’t going to fall for this trick his brain was playing on him, he wasn’t going to get his hopes up, only to be let down. Hanamaki felt a tightness in his chest and a very slight prickle of tears forming in his eyes; he missed him so much that it fucking hurt. He would go home right now and jump onto Skype and call up Matsukawa and–  
  
The illusion leaned in and gently kissed him, and it was beautiful and familiar and cruel all at once. The tightness in Hanamaki’s chest increased as he closed his eyes. What he would give to have this for real…  
  
But illusions did not kiss people. Did they? Oh, god, he was so tired—no, of course they didn’t. And especially not like this.  
  
He opened his eyes when he felt him pull away, half-expecting the illusion to have disappeared. But Matsukawa was still there and still smiling slightly, his face a little flushed from the cold. Hanamaki felt his heart pounding and hoped with everything he had that this wasn’t some vicious joke, that he wasn’t hallucinating, that this was real, _oh please let this be real_.  
  
“I waited a whole hour for you. I was afraid that you’d left already,” said Matsukawa.  
  
“I don’t understand,” said Hanamaki with difficulty.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“You’re supposed to be in Melbourne.”  
  
Matsukawa’s smile widened and slipped his hands in Hanamaki’s. His fingers were so cold. Illusions did not have cold hands. “Management contacted me a week and a half ago,” he said. “They told me that they wanted me to start work at their Sendai office as soon as possible, so they were going to end my contract in Melbourne early. It was pretty last-minute, but I finished my work there, got everything sorted out, and then took the earliest flight home. I got back not long ago and dropped off my stuff at the apartment, then came straight here.”  
  
“Why didn’t you say anything?”  
  
“I wanted to surprise you.”  
  
“You should have called.”  
  
“That defeats the point of a surprise.”  
  
“You _asshole_. You complete _dumbass_ –”  
  
“I guess. I’m sorry.”  
  
Hanamaki’s jaw clenched and his lips pursed, and Matsukawa leaned back a little as though expecting to be head-butted. But all Hanamaki did was say in an uncertain voice, “So… you’re staying?”  
  
“I need to go to the Sendai office on Monday morning to finalise a few things, but yes, I’m staying.”  
  
“You’re staying here for real? You’re not going back to Australia?” Hanamaki’s voice was cracking. “Tell me you’re staying for real, Issei, because these past couple of months have been the longest months of my fucking life–”  
  
“ _Yes_ , you beautiful idiot. I’m staying for real. I’m not flying overseas anytime soon, so you’re going to have to start buying my share of profiteroles again.”  
  
Hanamaki looked partially as though he had a hundred retorts running through his head and couldn’t decide which one to use, but more than anything, he looked as though he still did not dare believe that he wasn’t dreaming. He cupped Matsukawa’s face in his hands, ran his thumbs over his lips, felt Matsukawa press a kiss to his palm, and his expression crumpled.  
  
“It’s really you,” he murmured.  
  
“Yeah,” said Matsukawa softly. “I’m home.”  
  
That did it. Hanamaki leaned in and kissed him. He pulled away briefly and searched Matsukawa’s face like he was making sure for the last time that it wasn’t his imagination, but when tears blurred his vision, they kissed again, more intensely now as though making up for months lost, as though afraid it would be their last kiss ever, but knowing that this was so real, knowing they were _here_ , they were _together_.  
  
Difficult as it would have been, they knew that they genuinely could have weathered those extra two months without caving and flying off to visit each other, but the very thought was exhausting, and the fact that they didn’t have to anymore was the greatest thing to them both at the present moment.  
  
Perhaps they came out of this as stronger people, or perhaps it was the opposite and they realised they were actually emotionally weaker than they had hoped. And perhaps they realised that was okay, that it was better this way: throwing away their bravado and being honest with themselves and admitting that it was actually painful being so far away from each other for so long, after thinking that it would be easy. And perhaps _that_ made them stronger, and helped them to appreciate everything about each other that they had missed.  
  
Perhaps there was something to be said about the cliché of absence making the heart grow fonder, but either way, there was so much more joy and relief in being able to feel each other again rather than sitting behind computer screens and wishing they could; of being able to kiss during the biting cold; of pressing their foreheads together as their breaths formed little puffs of steam in the chill; of Hanamaki putting his arms around Matsukawa’s neck and hugging him tightly as he closed his eyes and buried his face in his shoulder; of Matsukawa wrapping one arm around Hanamaki’s waist and the other hand threading through his hair and pressing his lips to his temple; of holding each other close and almost feeling each others’ hearts beating.  
  
They stood that way in silence for a while. Whatever they wanted to say felt like something beyond words, but this was fine.  
  
It was so, so warm.  
  
— — — — —

**Author's Note:**

> *pulls up chair beside you and looks at you seriously* As of end of December 2014, there are three MatsuHana fics on AO3, and I have written all three of them. Is that sad? I feel like that's quite sad. They've taken over my life. Do you feel like writing fic about these two and making me look less pathetic? Please? The world needs more MatsuHana fics. (There is no hope for me. I'm a lost cause.)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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